A Tribute to Dad

My dad, Dick Barnes, went to be with the Lord 29 years ago, on August 29, 1997. I miss my dad and think about him often, but I admit I get more contemplative as August 29 rolls around each year. What you cannot see are the tears flowing down my cheeks as I write this.  I used to say that my mom declared August 29 a new national holiday – and if at all possible I made the trip to Canton, Ohio, to see her on that day. (I had known intellectually the importance of the anniversary of a death, but I learned it experientially every year for the 24 years my mom remained on this earth.) My mom and dad had 45 years of marriage, and would have been married 74 years this August 2.  Absolutely no judgment on people who remarry after their spouse dies – God bless them.  Our mom never looked at another guy for the rest of her life. 

The first and most important thing to mention is that my dad had an authentic commitment to Christ and the church. He served as an elder, Sunday School teacher – pretty much you name it in our home church, First Christian Church in Canton, Ohio. He was a faithful servant and he handed that down to us.  I am grateful daily for that legacy.

Virtually everything I know about manhood and how to be a husband and father I learned from him. He taught me all I know about work ethic, perseverance, and grace under fire.  To this day, I hand out “horse sense” I learned from my dad in counseling sessions. I am particularly grateful that I learned from him how you treat people – never on the basis of race or socio-economic status (because my dad spent most of his career in schools in what are euphemistically called “underprivileged neighborhoods” there were more people of color at his funeral than white people).  Whether it was Hartford Elementary, Lehman High School, Madge Youtz Elementary – the people who loved my dad the most in those schools where he was principal were the custodians. He always treated them with love and respect and recognized that without them they did not have school.

He had a pretty distinguished career in public education. Although for a number of years he had the number two position in the Canton City Schools, I think the neatest time in his career was when he got to be principal of his alma mater, Lehman High School. Those were some very happy years. We went to lots of (every) Lehman football, basketball, and baseball games.

I encounter many people who suffer from what they call the “father wound.”  The “father wound” is an awful thing, and my heart breaks for those who experience it. By God’s grace, I do not suffer from that. I loved my dad, I honor his memory, and I appreciate that he was an honorable man.   

From him I get my love of the garden and plants. After he retired from the schools, he spent the rest of his working life at the Green Thumb Nursery where he got to go to work in blue jeans.

His accomplishments were many. But his favorite role? Hands down, being grandpa. (God graciously allowed him to see all his grandchildren). What probably produces the most tears for me is when I think of how much he would have loved to see the great-grandchildren and how proud he would be of them. The photo at the top is not the best photo I have of him, but I chose it because it reflects his joy as grandpa with David and Jonathon on each side of him as he allows our nephew, Kyle, to chew his necktie.

Dad was a teacher, (signed his first teaching contract for $3,200 to teach social studies at Gibbs School) and I have told people that his final lesson he taught involuntarily.  Be ready, always.  I talked to my dad on the phone the night before he died. The OSU Buckeyes had an early football game against Wyoming on a Thursday night and although they won the game the Buckeyes did not look particularly sharp.  We discussed that on the phone.  Perhaps I would have talked with him about something more substantive if I had known that at 5:30 the next morning my mom would call with the news that he was suddenly, unexpectedly gone to be with Jesus. Be ready always.

I will close with something I said at dad’s funeral.  “My dad was Richard L. Barnes and I am Paul Richard Barnes.  I have two-thirds of his name, and I hope someday to have half of his character.”  Twenty-nine years later, I am still working on that.